I Never Knew
by JoeyBear1424
Summary: Foneth lays there in the dark, her hand running through Gilornor's hair. She tells him tale after tale about heroes, princes and princesses, dragons and goblins. She can't tell when the battle cries turned to screams. Or when the screams turned into cries of agony. Gilornor's nearly asleep when the first scream rips through the air, his eyes peering up at Foneth with curiosity.


When Calithiel departs from Erebor it is with a pocketful of beads and a child in her womb. She doesn't look back upon at the mountain where the dwarf who fathered this child resides. She doesn't break away from the group or shed a tear. She allows herself to be led on, her fingers gripping the reins tightly as she stares ahead. Her companions know. She can tell by the looks they cast her way, how some of them sniff and stare down their noses at her. How her family distances themselves from her. Yes, they all know.

When she returns home to Mirkwood she once again departs, accompanied by her brother Sírdhemon. Together the two departed, settling down in a house a few days walk from the settlement of Rohan. It was on their first night together Sírdhemon sat down to brush his sister's hair, pausing as he came upon the braid nestled in the flaxen hair. There were no words exchanged between the siblings as Calithiel reached up, resting her hand on his. The braid remained there, untouched by anyone except for Calithiel herself. Even as the first of her labor pains began, she brushed the midwife's hands away to take it out herself.

Conor comes into the world with the same flaxen hair as his mother but the rounded ears and strong, squared jaw of his father. As he's laid upon her chest Calithiel stares at him, her hands fluttering over him but never quite touching him. The midwife begins the process of tending to her and Conor, her eyes filled with questions that go unasked until finally she leaves.

"Is he healthy?" Sírdhemon asks, a contemplative look on his face as he stares at Conor.

"Yes he is. Do me a favor brother—in that bag on my dresser, there's a bag of beads. I would like you to hide them from Conor as he grows and keep them out of his reach. When he's five I'll add a braid into his hair." He begins to open his mouth just to clamp it shut, nodding his head. There's no more talk of beads or braids that night.

It would be five years later when Oldhinor would join Conor and make him a big brother. When Calithiel had returned from her trip with yet another braid and a protruding bump her brother did not say anything. He didn't stare or scowl or demand to know. He handed over Conor who wriggled and demanded to see his mother. A braid dangled in Conor's hair, right beside his rounded ear, clasped at the end with a wooden bead. Another braid would join his first one when his brother was born to signify his becoming a big brother. He stared down at the baby, all smiles and proud big brother, not noticing the concerned looks the adults shared.

Oldhinor did not react to the sound of his mother's voice, the sound of his brother's or even startle when Conor knocked over a stack of books in his excitement to see him. The baby simply laid there on his mother's chest, eyes squinting as whispers passed over his head.

"Deaf." The midwife says and shakes her head apologetically.

"I see." Calithiel whispered, running a finger over the tuft of dark hair that decorated her son's head.

"But he will live?" Sírdhemon prompted. At the midwife's nod his shoulders visibly sagged and both he and Calithiel watched as Conor fussed over his baby brother.

Five years after Oldhinor comes Aegon. By now Conor has begun to practice with a small wooden bow, doing target practice with whatever his uncle sets up for him in their backyard. While he practices his uncle sits with Oldhinor, practicing reading lips and sign language. It was during one of these days that Calithiel returned from yet another trip, her eyes red rimmed and angry as she stormed into the house.

"What did he do?" Sírdhemon asked later after the boys had fallen asleep and the house had been silent except for the sound of her sobs.

"He didn't do anything." She says, glaring down at the water filling the basin.

"Why did you go back again? If he brings this reaction about then why do you insist on going back to him?"

"Because I always have some hope that maybe this time will be different. I won't hear our parents nagging me in the back in the back of my head. I won't hear them asking what he has to offer, how much resentment I'll feel towards the others of his race because they may not accept our children."

"You're resentful towards him now—aren't you?" Sírdhemon's voice is gentle as his sister sighs.

"I don't know what I am anymore brother." She confesses and leans heavily against his shoulders, her arms wrapped around her middle.

Aegon comes out with the same tuft of dark hair that Oldhinor did and the same pointed ears of his mother. But neither him nor his mother smile, their faces pinched and twisted. Aegon's as he cries plaintively and Calithiel's as she stares at the ceiling, blinking away tears. She and her brother don't talk much after that, choosing instead to focus on the three boys who demanded their near constant attention. It wasn't until she returned from yet another trip, cradling her swollen stomach do the two speak again.

"You may not be able to see what he does to you. But I do. This dwarf keeps hurting you but I cannot understand for the life of me why you keep returning. What if you return someday and he's courting another or is married? And what do you have to remember him by? Four children and an aching heart that's what."

"These children mean more to me than you will ever know Sírdhemon." Calithiel's voice is sharp as she stares him down over the table.

"They mean a lot to me too but I fear for you. I can see that your hearts breaking more and more every time you return home. I fear that someday you won't return at all. We've a long road ahead of us and I cannot go it alone without my sister. Nor can the boys go it without their mother."

"Very well then brother." Calithiel whispers and goes to the living room where her boys sit with eager eyes to hear about her adventure.

Foneth comes with the same tuft of dark hair that her brothers before her have. Calithiel stares at her with wide eyed wonder as she strokes a hand over the dark hair. The bloody, wriggling bundle is held close to her chest.

"Cloud sister?" Sírdhemon asks with some amusement as he looks at the baby.

"Yes, cloud. Because she will float above all the others." Sírdhemon hums but says no more as he stares at the baby girl.

True to her word Calithiel did not go to on another trip. She stayed after the birth of Foneth and watched along with her brother as her children grew. Conor grew tall and lean, his flaxen blonde hair lengthening until his face was finally framed by multiple braids. His beard thick, each day his mother sitting him down and braiding it more and more as the length increased until finally it dipped down to his waist. He grew to be exceptional with a bow and arrow, his lean form and years of practice heightening his ability.

Oldhinor like his brother grew tall but he was built with more muscle, thicker with broader shoulders, barrel chested and sharp, dark eyes. His hair was kept short, hanging to his shoulders in wiry strands. His sideburns grew to be long but well-kept as he continuously shaved and shortened them. His conversations with his siblings consisted of sign language, written word and some spoken. Most of the time though it was signed, a smile on the face of his mother and uncle as his hands flew through the signs. He would choose an axe as his weapon which he used proudly, a gleam in his eyes each time he hefted it.

Aegon would grow up to be distrustful towards stranger and hold grudges towards those who crossed him. He chose a spear as his weapon and carried a variety of knives and daggers, never hesitating to use them on someone who threatened him. His dark hair was short, often a tussled mess which he never bothered running a comb through. Limber as a cat despite his stocky figure he loved to dart around their house, startling his mother, uncle or siblings as he popped around a corner unexpectedly.

Foneth's hair would reach her waist before she finally sat down and allowed her mother and uncle to braid it. She stared at the wall as they did so, their nimble fingers parting the dark strands easily. She was the only one who shared her mother's bright green eyes which rested above high cheekbones. While her brothers trained Foneth dreamed of heroes, devoured stories of princes and princesses. It was at night she and her uncle would train together, the sound of steel clashing filling the air as the two sparred together.

Gilornor would be the final child born to Calithiel, days after Foneth turned fifty. Just like Conor he comes into the world with a fine coating of flaxen hair on his head but the pointed ears of their mother. As he grew he came to share the same sharp green eyes as her too which sparkled with mischief. Most often he could be found with his mother or Foneth, astride their shoulders or riding in a papoose on their backs.

The children asked about the beads as they grew but their only answers were that it was a gift from a friend. When they asked asked about their father, their mother would take a long breath and sit silently before she changed the subject. Their uncle offered no answers either, simply shrugging and saying it wasn't his story to tell. The children did not miss the looks their mother and uncle shared but they said nothing about them, even when the two shared looks that bordered on dark nothing was said.

"I sense there's something coming. Something nasty." Sírdhemon says casually to his sister one night. She stands the sink, washing dishes with an unreadable expression. At his words her hands slow and she takes a long breath as she turns to face him.

"I've heard rumors that an orc pack is coming our way and will be arriving in perhaps two to three days. I want you to do something for me."

"Anything." Her lips twitch with a small smile as she stares at him.

"I want you to take my children and get out of here. We cannot survive an orc attack. They will sniff out Gilornor as the youngest and know that we'll all be desperate to protect him. The orcs will slaughter each of us and then—I don't want to think of what will happen after that."

"You don't know what you're asking me Calithiel. You want me to leave you here to die." He spits out the word 'die', glaring at his sister.

"Not to die. I'm asking you to protect my children."

"Conor will try and run back to you." Calithiel nods, her lips pursed.

"I know he will. I know that he'll try and protect me. I know that Oldhinor will sense something's wrong with me. Aegon will be resentful towards me for many years to come, possibly the rest of his life. Foneth will probably try to mother Gilornor. I know what's to come of my actions."

"Where am I supposed to go?"

"Anywhere, take them anywhere safe." Sírdhemon comes to stand behind her, resting a hand on her shoulder. She's silent as she reaches up and squeezes his hand, a soft look in her eyes.

The children are ordered to pack the next day. For a trip together their uncle says. The children start packing eagerly but slow down as they notice their mother's thing all sit untouched. Each time she sees them staring at her she shoots them a smile; shrugging her shoulders and saying that she'll pack later. When her children lay sleeping she slips some things into their bags: extra food, trinkets she's owned, notes. And each time she straightens up to walk out of their room she pauses, placing a kiss to their foreheads.

When the day of their departure comes Conor corners his mother outside their house, his eyes narrowed as he stares at her.

"Something's happening isn't it?" Conor asks.

"Conor please go to your uncle and your siblings. And run."

"You're not coming are you?" Conor demands. His mother scowls at him, her expression troubled.

"I'm telling you to run Conor. Now go. Go, go, go." She gives him a hard shove, making him stumble as he starts towards his uncle and siblings.

"Get on your horse Conor." Sírdhemon says, his voice hard as he stares at Celaireth. His voice leaves no room for argument and Conor grips the reins with sweaty palms as his uncle urges his horse forward. As they begin galloping away Conor hears a screech and tugs on the reins, his hands reaching towards his bow and arrow. But then comes a faint: 'run' from among the screeches and he's urging his horse on, a sick feeling settling in his stomach.

* * *

><p>They don't settle down for nearly a year. At first it's the death of Celaireth that leaves them itching when they stay in one place too long. The siblings grow restless, staring longingly out the window. Their uncle's gaze is distant as he goes through his daily activities, eyes void of any emotion. Their beads are removed from their hair, returning to the pouch which Sírdhemon carries around his neck.<p>

They wander instead of settling. In town they find work if it's available and spend some time there for a while before eventually packing up and wandering once more. At nights the family would gather around a fire or table and dump out whatever they'd earned that day.

"I earned two silver coins for braiding a woman's hair for her wedding." Foneth mutters.

"I got some copper coins for carving some toys." Conor dumps his own earnings onto the tables.

"We'll be just fine." Sírdhemon says from his spot where he counts their earnings, his brow furrowed as he tucks the coins away.

There would be no thoughts of settling. Nor would they come close to settling until a storm came as they crossed into the mountains. The harsh winds whipped their cloaks about, their hands scrambling along the rocky wall for any sort of balance. Gilornor's arms are wrapped around Conor's neck in a death grip, his face buried as Conor struggles to maintain his footing. Behind them trails Foneth who clutches her pack with aching fingers as she tries to see through the pouring rain. Her eyes are focused on Conor's back, the bright red of his cloak the last thing she sees as the ground crumbles beneath her.

"Foneth," Conor cries; looking at the spot where his sister stood moments ago. The ground has crumbled, a gaping hole into the earth taking its place. "Foneth?" When there's no answer he looks back at his brothers and uncle for an answer. Their uncle's face is contorted with fear as he stares down at the hole.

"Should we go in?" Aegon asks, shifting uncomfortably as the silence stretches on.

"We've no choice. Brace yourself boys." Sírdhemon says and through the rain Conor hears the faint screech of orcs. His uncle puts his hands on his shoulders and gives him a firm push down into the hole. Conor lets out a yelp, clapping a hand over his mouth, wrapping his free arm around Gilornor as he begins sliding down a series of twists and turns. He lands with a thump, hissing through clenched teeth.

"Foneth?" He calls. Standing up he rubs at his now sore bottom, glancing around this new place. Stone pillars fill the room, standing tall and intimidating. The room itself is dusty, broken bits of stone covering the floor. It smells musty and reeks of old. Foneth is nowhere to be seen. Behind him his brothers and uncle all land with a solid thump, grumbling as they stand up and dust off their pants.

"Where's your sister?" Sírdhemon asks; his eyebrows furrowed with worry as he looks around the room.

"I don't know." Conor mutters.

"Down?" Gilornor asks, tugging on one of his braids.

"Not right now." Conor says, squeezing his hand as they begin to wander. Each hallway seems to be filled with more and more stone and dust, the musty stench growing stronger. When they round a corner and find Foneth standing there with rigid shoulders a collective sigh comes from the group.

"We're not alone here." Foneth's voice is a whisper as she turns around, lifting her sword for them to see. An orc lies dead at her feet, her sword stained with its murky black blood. There's a flurry of movement as the others draw their weapons. Gilornor is handed over to Foneth, his green eyes wide as he stares up at her. Conor lays a steady hand on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

"Take Gilornor and lay down in your bedroll. Tell him a story, sing him a lullaby—I don't care what you do but keep him safe." And with that Foneth is left alone, Gilornor staring over her shoulder at the orc with wide eyes.

Foneth lays there in the dark, her hand running through Gilornor's hair. She tells him tale after tale about heroes, princes and princesses, dragons and goblins. She can't tell when the battle cries turned to screams. Or when the screams turned into cries of agony. Gilornor's nearly asleep when the first scream rips through the air, his eyes peering up at Foneth with curiosity. Foneth clamps her hands over Gilornor's ears as the screams begin to turn to cries of agony, her own ears open to the horrific sounds pouring in through the stone that cannot muffle it enough.

"There's something other than orcs here." Aegon says as he steps back inside the room. Oldhinor trails behind him, gripping his axe suspiciously.

"Something else like what?" Foneth asks.

"There were bodies everywhere but none alive." Sírdhemon says; shrugging at he walks towards the hole where they fell.

"Did you even check?" Foneth's question is met with a snort from Aegon who glares at her.

"I was a little busy attempting to save yours and Gilornor's life if you didn't notice. A thank you is also a welcome answer." Foneth reaches towards her sword, her eyes connected with Aegon's as she does so.

"Foneth don't you move one muscle." Aegon snaps. Foneth lays there frozen; her eyes flickering back and forth between her sword and Aegon.

"There's a chance for those if there are any still alive." She whispers, her fingers wrapping around her sword.

"I said not one muscle." He hisses too late as she wriggles out of her bedroll and begins to move from the room. She runs down hallways of twists and turns, her feet slipping on the broken pieces of stone and weapons that litter the floor. She skids to a stop, peering around a corner as figures stumble into the room.

. Their shapes are difficult to make out in the dark, each figure groaning and grunting with pain. Hands soaked with blood scramble for weapons as a shriek comes from the dark. One lays on the ground, scribbling furiously in a journal.

"More are coming." The one writing whispers and looks around worriedly.

"I know laddie, I know. I'm so sorry that I've lead you all to your deaths." There's a soft sob and the figure shakes his head furiously. He stops abruptly as a shadow moves on the wall, a broken whimper escaping from his lips. There's a tug on Foneth's arm where Oldhinor stands, signing pleadingly.

"Come on. Gilornor is going to begin to wonder where you are." Oldhinor signs and gives yet another tug. Foneth ignores it, her eyes trained on the shadow that dances across the wall. The last thing she hears is Oldhinor hurried footsteps as he runs behind her, his axe raised as she drives her sword into the chest of an orc.

* * *

><p>So I rewrote this damn thing about three different times. I know that Foneth will be the love interest of Ori. There might be slash in this story but I'm not sure yet. If slash isn't your thing then I ask you not read this story. Each chapter will probably be from the point of view from one of the siblings going from oldest to youngest. I know who the father is already and a warning.<p>

I know this story will be majorly breaking canon. I'm going to be playing with ages a lot and changing the ages of the dwarves when we meet them but there's thing called it's my story and I'll do whatever I want. Anyways I hope you like it and if you have suggestions or questions then let me know and I'll do my best to answer them. I'll explain later why Sírdhemon accompanied his sister and expand on their relationship.

Calithiel: Moon light

Sírdhemon: River of sadness

Conor: Valor

Oldhinor: Dream of silence

Aegon: Sharp point

Foneth: Cloud

Gilornor: Star tree.


End file.
